Nomon en Nontu
by TrulyBeTold
Summary: After an argument with Abby, Clarke seeks out Lexa's comfort. Instead, she stumbles upon a memorial celebration for Lexa's parents at TonDC, Drogo and Daenerys. Clarke learns of the two great commanders and even more about the daughter they raised.


_A/N: Inspired by a few tumblr posts floating around, check out my tumblr (trulybetold) for the links! They're pretty awesome! As always, read and review. Hope you enjoy!_

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Utterly frustrated and beyond annoyed, Clarke storms into TonDC almost breathless and fueled by her anger. She had sped through the woods so quickly, forgetting about the cold that bit at her cheeks and ears. When she arrives, the camp is bustling. It takes her aback for a moment, wondering if she had forgotten about some grounder ritual or celebration. She staggers through the camp, some of them glancing to her before returning to their business. Her presence has become so familiar, she blends into their background more easily with each passing day. She's passing through the camp, dodging pleasant greetings from acquaintances as she heads inward. Still, she notices many things. There are three large boars roasting over open fires and the camp's women, weave baskets of straw and garlands of wildflowers, bouncing their babes on their knees and laughing amongst themselves. Fathers and uncles gesture animatedly around smaller fires, enticing the children who sit eagerly at their feet, eyes wide with curiosity.

Clarke continues through the camp, the celebratory air juxtaposing her internal feelings of rage. Her boots grit in gravel and dirt, her hands ball in tight fists at her waist. Despite her slight interest in whatever was happening in TonDC, her own thoughts irritate and distract her, guiding her almost blindly to the Commander's tent. When Clarke grew mad, she grew selfish. It had been a trait she'd carried since childhood, a trait kindly ignored by her father and viciously repressed by her mother. She needed to vent, she needed someone to tell her she was right. She was hoping that someone would be Lexa.

Approaching the Commander's tent, Lexa's guards did not give Clarke a second look as she made her way through the thick leather drapes. Once inside, her blue eyes seek out the brunette in a flurry. She discovers Lexa at her desk, flipping through a large book, undisturbed by Clarke's less than graceful presence. The blonde stands there, waiting for an acknowledgment that does not come. Instead, she helps herself to Lexa's bed, sitting and fidgeting with bitterness. Still, Lexa says nothing. She is engrossed in her book, which Clarke had never seen before, nor could she tell what its contents are. After a painfully agonizing moment of silence, Clarke speaks with a long sigh, "Are you just going to ignore me?" Her tone is laced with discontent and this is how she gets Lexa's attention.

Closing the book with a careful hand, Lexa turns in her chair to face Clarke. She places a few fingers under her chin and focuses her olive eyes to the blue ones in front of her. "Clarke, you seem upset," she observes.

"Of course I'm upset," Clarke confirms, standing up and crossing her arms. "If you had my mother, you'd be upset, too." She waits for a response, but only receives a nod from Lexa for her to continue. Clarke groans, "She's so frustrating! She still treats me like a child, like I don't know what's best for our people!" She began to pace across the room, her hands expressing her anger. "I've been here since day one. Her, Jaha, Kane, they all sent us here to die and we survived because of the decisions that me and the rest of the hundred made. Yet, she still has the audacity to refer to me as a child!" She huffs, helping herself to a glass of water. She gulps it down, realizing how dry her throat was from her rapid speech and the cool autumn air. She drinks another glass before returning to Lexa's stare, "After all I've done, after all I've been through, no matter how many times I've proved myself, I'm still just a kid to her," she finishes, exasperated and slumping back to Lexa's bed.

The Commander waits a moment, ensuring Clarke is done speaking. When she is certain, she reaches for Clarke's hand. She intertwines their fingers, feeling Clarke relax under her touch. "What brings you here with such anguish?" She asks, her attention on the words Clarke's lips form and the meaning behind them. It was a favorite attribute Clarke had learned about Lexa, her great ability to listen. When they were together, Clarke felt entirely heard, and usually understood. The Sky Leader talked much more than the Commander, but to Clarke, Lexa's words were always more full and worthy of being heard. She regarded their private discussions as one of her most cherished discoveries upon Earth.

She sighs once more, feeling repetitive in the description of the arguments with her mother, but desperate to vent her frustrations. "She dismisses me in front of our councils, she tries to make decisions against my advice. She thinks our technology will last. Her and the other adults are reluctant to adapt to this world, they are ignorant of the ground and I can't let my people suffer through our first winter simply because they are too scared to prepare."

"Is your mother not pleased with the supplies we have provided?" Lexa questions, her brow quirked.

Clarke first responds by squeezing Lexa's hand, then with words. "No, she is grateful. We all are, but they've got to learn to survive on their own. Their technology won't last forever. It's a matter of principle," Clarke decides. "But, if she keeps referring to me as some stupid kid instead of one of our leaders, I'm going to lose it," she stands, re-triggered by her own fury. Her hands form fists again as she walks about the room, "I'll make my own camp if I have to."

"Clarke," Lexa says, her tone reflecting the unrealistic nature of her last sentence.

Clarke is strong in her convictions, and simply responds, "I'm not a child, and I refused to be treated or seen as such."

Lexa turns to her, and licks her lips before she speaks, "She is your mother, you _are _her child. No event in the sky or on the ground will change that."

Knitting her brow and narrowing her eyes, Clarke scoffs at the remark. "How could you say that to me? You're supposed to be on my side, remember? Not Abby Griffin's." Her arms are crossed again, and her hip stuck out in defiance.

Standing now, Lexa reaches for Clarke, running two warm hands down the blonde's arms in attempt to relax her. "This isn't about sides, Clarke. You will always be her child despite how hard you fight it." Clarke tenses in her grip, and she releases her, opting to return to her desk chair. She points to the bed, silently asking Clarke to settle there. Clarke reluctantly listens, lying down upon the bed of furs in a feeble attempt to calm her nerves.

She laces her fingers atop her stomach, sighing with annoyance. "How would you like to be seen as a child instead of a leader?" Clarke asks, cheekiness behind her question.

Clarke waits for a sarcastic remark to match her own, but the silence grows heavy between them. She turns from staring at the ceiling to Lexa at her desk. The brunette is gazing at the book in front of her, her fingers tracing the spine gingerly. Suddenly, Clarke feels a churning in her stomach, like she's said something offensive. Perhaps, she has. "Lexa?"

Breathing with a sharp inhale, Lexa returns her attention to Clarke, a pained expression crosses her features. And for once, she doesn't hide it. "I would like that very much, if only for a moment once more." The tone of Lexa's voice, one of despair and hurt, was one she had never heard before. "You see, Clarke, you may presume I lost my childhood the day I became Commander. But, that is not true. I lost my childhood on this day years before. When I stopped being someone's child."

The blonde held her gaze, though she was very tempted to look away. Here she was, complaining about her nagging mother, when she so often forgot that Lexa didn't have one. She had never confirmed it with the Commander, but Clarke had heard rumors through Octavia and Lincoln. Lexa was small when her parents died, and a couple years later she was chosen to be Commander. It was a tragic tale, something from a story book, but Clarke often forgot how real it must have been for Lexa. And here she was going on about her very much alive mother. "Lexa, I didn't mean-"

"I know you didn't, Clarke." Lexa stops her. It was rare that Lexa interrupted her, the gesture quiets Clarke immediately. "And I didn't either. I just want to remind you that being someone's child, while hard and often frustrating, it is also a source of great joy. And in times of anger between you and Abby, try to think of the joys, for they will not last forever."

Clarke's heart clenched in her chest. She could tell Lexa was hurting inside, and seeing this was so rare and strangely beautiful, she wanted to cry and hold Lexa in her arms. The more she watches Lexa, the brunette looking younger and younger by the second, the more aware she grows of how selfish she has been. She disgusts herself with her petty irritations. She knows what it is like to lose a parent, she understands. But, Lexa has lost both. And countless others.

Moments of silence pass by, not uncomfortable, but just tinted with sadness. Slowly, Clarke begins to piece things together. "It's for your parents, the celebration?"

Lexa scoffs softly, shaking her head. "They call it a celebration. They've always celebrated their lives and deaths." Clearly, she is bothered by the excitement outside her tent. Clarke is confused, and Lexa notices. "I appreciate the sentiment of celebration, but I prefer to remember them on my own terms."

After a stale moment, Clarke finally asks. "Who were they?" But the question sends a tense flinch through Lexa's body, and Clarke is quick to retract it. "Never- we don't have to, if you don't want to," she says awkwardly, sitting up with her hands clenching the bed furs. She is never afraid to pry into people's personal lives, but with Lexa, it is different. She has seen the girl vulnerable, and while Clarke is generally an open book, she is patient with Lexa, letting the Commander open and reveal herself, page by page. So, when Lexa smiles gently and moves to the bed with the large book in her arms, Clarke grows curiously happy, forgetting of her own troubles.

They move to sit next to one another, crossing their legs beneath them. Lexa places the book in front of them, tenderly tracing the patterns of gold filigree that adorn the cover. "This, is the story of my parents."

Clarke scoots a little closer, kissing Lexa's shoulder and taking her arm around the brunette's lower back. Only twice before had Lexa spoken in great detail of her painful past. The first story she told Clarke was of Costia. Clarke had nightmares about the mercy kill of Finn, and wept as she remembered his blood on her hands. She had a lot of blood on her hands as of lately, especially after the Battle of the Mountain, but his still hurt the most. Lexa consoled her, held her in her arms and spoke with great understanding as she detailed her and Costia's love affair, and Costia's eventual death. That night, in the midst of their compassion for each other's losses and efforts to soothe their mutual pains, they made love for the first time.

The second story was how Lexa became Commander. Lexa was twelve when she was chosen, and she described in great detail the challenges that faced her choosing. Becoming a Commander was no easy task. It was complex and without sympathy for a girl of twelve. She braved the physical and mental obstacles that many did not face until they were much older. The trials to become Commander hardened her. She spent her formative months with relentless guidance from Indra, Gustus, and Anya. It wasn't until a year later, that she was fully trusted as Commander and tested in the battle field. She proved to be ruthless _and_ merciful, a powerful negotiator and an intimidating leader. She came out victorious and her people proud.

This would be the third story. And perhaps, Clarke thought, the most important.

"I want to hear everything," Clarke offered, her eyes gleaming with intrigue. It was her turn to be the listener. "What were their names?"

Then, Lexa opened the book. Two maps appeared on either side of the pages, sketched with such detail, Clarke was amazed. She went to touch the pages, feeling if she felt them they could come to life. She hesitated, awaiting Lexa's permission. The brunette nodded, and Clarke continued her advances. She traced her fingers over green forests, and rocky mountains. She touched the depths of the desert sands, and vastness of the oceans surrounding them. She tried to understand the words penned in immaculate calligraphy, but it was in Lexa's mother tongue so the words did not register. Lexa copied her movements, searching for a certain point and tapping it with her finger when she found it. "Here, is where my mother was born. Her name was Daenerys."

"That's a beautiful name," Clarke compliments.

"She was beautiful, although I'm afraid I look nothing like her," Lexa smiles, "Her eyes were violet, brighter than any flower in the forest."

"Violet? How?" The blonde asks, amazed.

"It was an inherited trait. Very rare and unique to her kin's blood. In fact, all her features were. She had hair lighter than yours, silver almost. She was pale in the winter, but grew very tan in the summers," Lexa reflects, staring into the map with a relaxed smirk.

Clarke can't help but let out a soft chuckle, "Yeah, that doesn't sound like you at all."

Lexa returns with a small laugh, nodding her head, "I take from my father. His name was Drogo, and he was born here," she guides Clarke's finger to another point on the opposite page. "His features were darker than mine, but I thank him for my unruly hair." This made Clarke smile, and she reached to play with the ends of Lexa's braids as she continued. "He was a tall man, strong and decorated in scars and tattoos. His hair was long, his people only cut their hair in the face of great defeat. He was Commander of the Great Grass Sea, here," Lexa directs, "And my mother, she was from a very respected and wealthy family that oversaw trade and commerce near the bay."

"How did they meet?"

"My mother grew tired of the limitations of business, thought it boring," Lexa added.

Clarke huffed out, "I don't blame her."

Smiling once more, Lexa continues. "She sought greatness through politics as she grew her business into an empire. She managed to gain position on the city council. A year later she was the sole leader of her city. The people loved her and she loved them back. But, that did not settle the disputes among borders and several battles began to break out. Namely, one between my mother's city of Meereen and my father's army from Dothrak. They battled here," Lexa points to a spot on the map. "They met for negotiations and they finally reached one after hours of deliberation."

Arching her brow, Clarke silently begged for more. And when Lexa teased her with a smirk, she pleaded verbally. "What happened!" She gripped onto Lexa's thigh, eager for more.

Lexa complied, "They arranged a marriage between them. To bind their tribes and people for the promise of peace. Their advisers fought them, but my mother told me the moment she looked upon my father, she knew she wanted to be with him 'til the end of her days. My father said my mother was the Moon of his Life, and he was the Sun and Stars of hers," Lexa turned the page smiling at the memory. Pressed flowers were intricately sewn into the paper and at the bottom two locks of hair braided together, silver and black in color. Words scattered the pages, though Clarke could not understand a single phrase. "My mother's wedding flowers."

"They were wed at once, and it was not easy. They had trouble adjusting to one another's customs and traditions. My father's people did not see my mother fit to be their shared leader, and she had to prove herself several times before they accepted her at my father's side. Months later, they led together, victorious in their efforts for peace and expansion of their lands," She turned the page again, another map painted onto the paper. "See this?" Clarke nods. "This was TonDC before my parents."

Squinting at the page, Clarke meets Lexa's eyes with confusion. "There's like three huts and a stable of sheep."

Lexa laughs at Clarke's observation, "Yes, I know. They created TonDC, rather what you see now. Along with several other villages in this area. They were successful and strong, and loved by their people."

A smirk grew on Clarke's lips, and she nudged Lexa with her shoulder. "And then they had the most beautiful daughter ever." Lexa blushes at the compliment, and Clarke is quick to trace her jaw and lips in kisses. They laugh lightly together, Clarke resting her head on Lexa's shoulder.

"Yes, then they had me. I was born in Polis, on a night when the sky was fueled with thunder and lightning. It rained for days before my mother was in labor, and when I was born the rains stopped. I was the first of their kind, first of the people they had created together. There were celebrations for weeks after," Lexa explained, showing another page.

"LEXA." Clarke practically shouted. Her eyes were wide and her mouth agape. She fanned her hands out on the page in front of her and melted inside. "Is this you as a _baby_?"

"Yes?" Lexa answers, confused.

"LEXA!" Clarke cries again, her fingers trail along the outline of a painting. In the middle of the page is a piece of cloth sewn down, and on it was the portrait of a baby. Not older than four or five months, smiling with a single toothy grin. Dark downy hair splays to her shoulders, and rolls of baby fat section her arms and legs. Her eyes are a bright green as she holds onto a small wooden toy. "Lexa," Clarke sighs, clutching her hand to her heart. She wants to cry, she doesn't understand why but she desperately wants to cry and hold Lexa close. "This is... the most precious thing I've ever seen."

Lexa rolls her eyes, "You've seen plenty of babies-"

"But this is _you_! As a _baby_! It's so lifelike," Clarke comments, not being able to stop glancing between Lexa and the infant portrait, comparing the painting with the real life version. "Who painted it?"

"My mother," Lexa smiles, pointing out a scrawl in the corner: _kom Leksa hodnes Nomon._She leans close to Clarke, and whispers in her ear. "There's more."

They spend the next hour pouring over every page in Lexa's book. She sees portraits of Lexa's parents, and has no doubt she is their daughter. She's a perfect mixture of both, having the structure of her mother's face and body, but the coloring of her father. And as if the portraits themselves did not cement the fact that Lexa was most definitely theirs, the stories she told most certainly did. Lexa had filled the book with memories of her parents, declaring she was afraid she would forget them, so she wrote them down. Clarke learns many things from these pages and she feels incredibly close to Lexa. She learns it was her father who first taught her how to fight with a sword, and her mother taught her to fight with her mind. Lexa explains how often they traveled, preparing her to become an expert horse rider and accustomed to the various traditions and rituals of different tribes and clans. Drogo and Daenerys raised a daughter in a well-rounded household, they embraced her strengths and worked through her weaknesses. Daenerys was convinced their daughter would become a leader one day, while Drogo often reminded his daughter of the joys of having someone to love. They taught her to hunt and to survive, but also to love and to work. But, when Lexa was in her tenth year, everything changed.

"There was a war amongst our people and the people beyond the River. Great battles were fought along the River and my parents were arduous in their efforts to calm the quell that ravaged the villages and farms caught between them. Their leaders sought no negotiations, only bloodshed," Lexa remembers, watching a candle dance in the distance. Clarke hung onto every word, eager for more but knowing what would come next. "My parents strongly believed in fighting among their warriors, and that day I watched as they dressed each other for battle. My mother painted my father's face, he braided her hair. They hugged and kissed me, promising to be back at dusk before leaving me with Anya. Hours later, their warriors came to me. They were bloody and dirty, and Anya began to cry when she saw them. I was confused, but they picked me up and carried me into the center of camp."

"You were so young," Clarke reflects, not wasting another moment before intertwining their fingers. She rests her head on Lexa's shoulder again, wanting to be as close as possible.

Lexa nods, continuing her story as they both stare at a portrait of her parents in their battle gear. "They were fatally wounded, no healer in our camps could fix them. They lay dying together when they summoned me. Their warriors tried their best to clean them, to make it less scary for a child of ten," Lexa explains, her voice low. "But I was not afraid of wounds or blood. When I reached them, I sat between them and held both of their hands. My father was unable to speak, so my mother spoke for them both. She told me I would be a great commander, a respected leader, a wonderful wife, and a loving mother," a light blush creeps onto Lexa's cheeks again, and Clarke pulls her hands to her lips before placing soft kisses. "She told me that I would not grow to be just an ordinary woman, that _my_ dreams would always come true."

"She was right, Lexa," Clarke adds, reaching for Lexa's lips with her own in a chaste, kind kiss. "You are extraordinary. And you are or will be all the other things, too."

Kissing Clarke with a longer, but soft kiss, Lexa whispers, "Thank you, Clarke." After a moment, Lexa closes the book. She sighs lazily, and nudges the book away. "They died saving our people, a warrior's death… I try to be proud of their sacrifice, and not selfish in my wishes to have them back-"

"Lexa, that's not selfish. It's okay to miss your parents, they were amazing people," Clarke informs, pointing at the book. "They raised an incredible daughter. And honestly, I wish they were still alive, too, because I would spend all day telling them just how incredible you are. And they would be proud."

Clarke feels Lexa tense momentarily before the brunette turns into Clarke's neck. She hugs Clarke tightly, her fingers gripping Clarke's shirt firmly. The Sky Leader inhales sharply when she feels a warm tear slide down her neck and over her collarbone. She holds Lexa tight, rubbing her back and kissing her forehead. She doesn't speak for a long while, opting to let the Commander have this moment of vulnerability. With a soft cry, Lexa finally speaks, keeping her head buried in Clarke's hair. "Sometimes I feel so weak without them, Clarke."

"Lexa, even though our parents are gone, they're always with us. Come on. You know that," Clarke gently reminds her, leaning down to kiss her wet cheeks. "And you've got this wonderful book to remember them by, and hundreds of people that could tell you countless stories about your parents. You've just got to ask." She looks into Lexa's eyes with reassurance, the brunette nodding and wiping her tears away.

"You're right, Clarke. Perhaps I should participate in the celebration this year," Lexa says, contemplating her decision. The Sky Leader traces soothing patterns on Lexa's back before the brunette turns to her again, "Will you stay with me?"

Clarke kisses her once more before answering with an honest "Always."

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_A/N: Might be a two-shot. Haven't decided. I'll change the status to completed if I decide not to, but we will see! :) _


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